


This Side of Blue

by naaz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Padmé Amidala Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 11:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naaz/pseuds/naaz
Summary: In which Obi-wan is angry boy and Padmé kisses it out of him.





	This Side of Blue

He has a temper, she likes it. 

It's nothing like Anakin's, all fire and sparks, destruction and creation in equal measure. Obi-wan just burns at the heart of himself, bright eyes and regret that sing like siren song to the parts of herself that, with Anakin, she has tempered into a fine point. 

Obi-wan holds her. He lays claim to her mouth as though he knows her inside and out and that he does is an entirely different matter. He pulls her into his arms and lifts her with surprising ease, pushes her back against the wall and stares at her with eyes that border just this side of a blue. 

(The little fluctuations in shade she pretends not to notice have been there for months now.) 

He is angry, and it burns inside him like a brush fire. It sweeps across the land before either of them can blink leaving him smouldering, rough, but there is never a doubt in her mind. 

He loves her. 

Like she loves rain or the lake country or Naboo. His love is spread more thinly but she believes that it's there with all her misguided heart. Her fingers splayed across his cheek bones and her smile so soft against his skin that he worries he may break from it, or more frightening yet she may find a way to smother his flame; that she may open her mouth and envelop whole the ember that centers him. 

His fire ebbs and she watches, patient and kind, fingers pulling through the coarse hair of his growing beard. For all that he just this side of anger, she can feel it in him, the white hot of the force. Without it he might have grown cold long ago and cold was more the dark side than the heat. 

For as much as he dwelled on the memory of Anakin burning, she feels only Vader, anger cold and muted in the shallow grave that made his body. 

"Padmé," he whispers and she shallows his whispers because she knows what comes next. Some self hate laden combination of fears. 

I am not good, was said often. 

My love is doomed, was another. 

As though hers has faired any better. 

She doesn't care for his sooth saying and she reminds him every day. Every night when they lay together and morning when they wake it's on her lips: "The only sure prophecy is the self fulfilling one." 

As though she hadn't already died and been remade in the fires of his mind. 

"Coming from you," he huffs and she smiles in turn. 

"Ironic, isn't it?" 

And he kisses her through her soft peels of laughter, fingers grazing the outer of her hip and pushing her thin night shift up, up, until his fingers are splayed wide across the stretch marks on her stomach and she's kissing back. War scars. Victory etched across her skin.


End file.
